Picking his way through morning glory vines, over rolling chunks of old pavement, David made his way to the edge of the ditch. Kneeling down, he got close enough to the dandelions and clover to see that the bees visiting them were striped the distinctive orange-and-black of watch bees.

Looking up, David took in the farm as a whole. The paint on the farmhouse and barn wasn’t fresh, but it wasn’t peeling. The garden was big. The fields grew food, not just biofuel crops. He was six or seven miles from town, having rejected each of the farms he’d passed, but this one looked promising.

We were supposed to have a Burlington Trailways bus from Galesburg to Champaign, but the train was late and they left without us. So they put us on this shuttle with a dozen people who were doomed to miss their connection in Chicago who were being shuttled to Indi to board their train already en […]